


Shores and Edges

by entanglednow



Category: Lost
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Richard is brave and Jacob is easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shores and Edges

It's Richard who knocks the wine. Feet unsteady on the sand, which is deeper than it has any right to be sometimes. The mug tilts too far and Jacob - now has a sharp stream of bright purple-red curling down his chin and throat.

There's a long pause, the roar of the ocean a strange background to Jacob's faintly amused expression.

It's one moment of madness, or weakness. Before Richard's on his knees in the sand, with his mouth pressed to the line of Jacob's throat, feeling his adam's apple jump and shift there while his tongue trails the chilled line of sharp fruit against the warmth of Jacob's skin.

Jacob looses a quiet, half-surprised rush of air and then tilts his head to let him, to encourage him.

Richard opens his mouth there, some soft noise sliding out of his throat. Because this is something he's only dimly aware of wanting and suddenly he has the warm, heavy taste of Jacob on his tongue.

His hands lift, then shakily, uncertainly, slide the fine white material of Jacob's shirt up and over his head. He lets it fall to the sand and Jacob makes a low, amused sound. But there's nothing else, no objection, no disapproval. He lets Richard's hand hold him, lets his palms slide on bare skin like he's been allowed all along. Jacob's curious half-edge of a smile leaves a thrum of desire in his blood.

Richard follows the wet line of wine down the warmth of Jacob's chest, mouth open on the hard jut of collarbone, the flat smoothness of his breastbone. He settles, mouth open around a nipple, and Jacob sucks air like a man, he reacts like a man to the quick, sliding flick of Richard's tongue. Which is something, a shade of sensation, of realness about him.

Richard cautiously settles his hands on Jacob's hips, intimately close under the fine material of his pants. He slides closer still in the sand, slipped in where Jacob's thigh is pulled up.

Jacob's fingers dig into the ground like he wants to reach up. Like he wants to touch him, to catch hold of him. But he's exercising careful restraint.

His skin tastes real enough and Richard slides down, leaving a trail of saliva and the faint red where his stubble drags on the skin.

Jacob's stomach jumps and the edge of wine-sharpness is immediately overpowered by the salt-warmth of him. By the heaviness of skin that tastes real and alive.

It still feels like worship though, some line Richard's not even sure he should be crossing. But his fingers are already pulling at the laces to Jacob's pants, drawing the loose edge down. He can already tell by the line of hardness that his attention hasn't been wasted. He exposes the smooth bare curves of Jacob's hipbones, followed by the low trail off hair, naked enough that Richard makes a noise. Something low and greedy that doesn't sound like him at all.

"Richard."

He looks up. But there's no protest there, just curiosity and a strange expectant sort of heat that's familiar enough to leave Richard sliding down, spreading the warm weight of Jacob's thighs.

Jacob's heavy in his mouth. A hot, wide stretch, hard and foreign. Richard's not expecting the rush of greedy lust that slices through him when Jacob's breath catches, when his thigh moves for the press and slide of Richard's shoulder, letting him fold in close and hot.

There's a noise, faint but real and Jacob's hand is in his hair, not pressing, or pushing. It just seems fascinated by every slow slide down, wet lips meeting his curled fist. There's a low, harsh breath on every push. Like Jacob isn't used to the sensation. But he clearly wants it. Fingers tightening for just the briefest insant, thighs twitching, fighting the urge to push in. To see what it's like to be deep. That's an instinct Jacob has at least. Something hard and greedy and human.

Richard makes a noise at the quick-dark thrill of it, his own arousal crushed to a low, demanding thud where he's bent in and folded over. He has little experience save his own personal knowledge of what he knows for himself. Though it's more awkward, more intimate than he's expecting. It's _more_ and this is something he has done, something visceral and sexual that he cannot take back.

Jacob's encouraging with every careful twitch of muscle. Silent though, silent and undemanding, and Richard can't help but wonder if he can make Jacob beg. It's a thought that tastes a lot like blasphemy. But he's already slowing, drawing back, tongue exploring the soft-hardness of the head while his fingers drag through hair and slide across the tight warmth of Jacob's stomach, feeling it jump and catch under them. One strange, shivery moment of power he's not expecting.

"Please," Jacob says finally, voice gone rough and dark, fingers dragging the wrong way through Richard's hair. They dig in, just a fraction, like they want to hold and push and _make_ him. But they don't, they can't, perhaps. Richard slides back, looks up at him and gets a roughly indrawn breath. A mute, demanding shift of thighs.

Jacob's fingers clench, barely holding his hair at all. But there's a brief, bright second of pain.

"Richard, please." The edge of desperation is beautiful. Words lost somewhere in the depth of Jacob's throat. Richard can't do anything but give Jacob what he wants. Wrap his hand around the base of him and open and take him as deep as he can in quick untidy slides.

Jacob's next breath slices in quick, hips forced into stillness, fingers shifting in quick, mad little catches in Richard's hair.

Before, it seems, even Jacob breaks the rules, hips shifting up, just a fraction. Matching the rough shake of every exhale.

It takes a handful of awkward, untidy pushes before he comes inside Richard's mouth, across his tongue and Richard's too stunned to do anything but swallow, before he's pulling free in one sticky slide, hand dragging Jacob right to the shivering, sensitive end.

Only then does Richard look up.

Jacob looks wrecked, eyes dark, clothes shoved out of the way and Richard is torn between crawling up his body and pressing his own desperate greed into Jacob's skin, or sliding his clothing back together again. Some strange lesson in control he's not sure if he even wants Jacob to learn.

  



End file.
